


Untitled Porny Snippet

by trill_gutterbug



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Eating out, Genderplay, Intersex Loki, Loki's Mad Dope Shape-Shifting Skillz, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Pregnancy Kink, Snippet, Thor is a Studmuffin, Vaginal Sex, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor wakes to a subtle motion at his side, a steady rhythm of movement that brings him slowly out of heavy sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Porny Snippet

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think there's anything too confusing or out of context here, but if it makes things easier, fit this into your headcanon wherever you choose: before the first Thor movie, some indefinable time after the second, an alternate universe-- whatever. Suffice it to say, Thor and Loki are friendly with each other (...very friendly), and are having a camp-out in a hut somewhere in the woods with their buddies (who never actually make an appearance).
> 
> And the rest is smut.
> 
> (I'm finally on tumblr, under trillgutterbug! Come say hi!)

Thor wakes to a subtle motion at his side, a steady rhythm of movement that brings him slowly out of heavy sleep. He knows it is Loki before he opens his eyes, and quells the instinctive spasm of his hand for Mjolnir.  
  
Loki’s hand slips across Thor’s chest, tucking itself, cold and sharp, into the hot crevice of his arm pit. Thor grunts in protest.  
  
“Are you awake, brother?” Loki asks.  
  
Thor grunts again, and draws it out into a groan when Loki squirms against him some more, disturbing the furs and letting in cold air. “Go to sleep,” he mumbles. “It’s dark out.”  
  
“What better time?” Loki’s voice is low, but lilted with soft amusement. It goes breathy at the end, deeper.  
  
Thor cracks open an eye. The hut is nearly pitch black; only the faintest glimmer of moonlight comes in around the door flap. He turns his head to Loki, who peers back at him, just a pale suggestion of face and throat in the darkness.  
  
“Better time?” Thor asks. His own voice is rough with sleep. He wishes for a cup for water. “What are we doing?”  
  
“Nothing yet,” says Loki. “Would you like to?”  
  
Thor blinks slowly, realization dawning, verified by the way Loki’s hips roll, coming up tight to his hip and grinding there, slow rocking pushes that catch Thor’s breath in his throat. He inhales sharply, bringing himself fully awake, scenting the bitterness of wood smoke, the tang of their furs, the sweat of his own body.    
  
Loki mumbles against his shoulder, something like, “Yes, there we go.”  
  
Thor rolls over, tucks Loki under one arm and draws him in tight. “What sort of dreams have you had tonight, brother?”  
  
Loki laughs quietly. His head dips beneath Thor’s chin. He speaks into the hollow of Thor’s throat. “I dreamt I was gravid with your child, Thor, a queen of many realms, and all our subjects filed past my throne to pledge their loyalty. I was so large, so stuffed full of baby, that I couldn’t rise to take their oaths. Their gifts of food and trinkets pleased me not at all, so they had to prove themselves in other ways.”  
  
Thor says nothing, knowing that Loki doesn’t wish him to. He pushes one hand up into his brother’s hair, kneads at the scalp and skull beneath, coaxing.  
  
“I had a cunt, Thor,” Loki continues, “and it was wet all the time, hungry for everything. I made them all kneel to me, right on the foot of my throne, and satisfy me with their mouths. Thousands of sworn lords and ladies, Thor, and I made them all kneel, and it was still not enough.”  
  
Thor groans, partly amused, partly heated.  
  
“So I woke up,” Loki says, “to deal with myself properly.”  
  
“And you had to wake me to do that?” Thor closes his eyes in blissful remembrance. “I dreamt I was on Midgard, trapped by sorcery in a merchant booth, forced to survive on chocolate pudding and a thing called cheesecake.”  
  
Loki scoffs, but it’s muffled in Thor’s neck. “You should thank me for liberating you.”  
  
“It was wonderful,” says Thor mournfully.  
  
“I have something much better for you to eat.”  
  
Thor laughs for real this time. “Silvertongue,” he says. “You inflame my passion.”  
  
“Your passion is always stacked with kindling and doused in oil.”  
  
“Your flint strikes the most potent spark,” counters Thor gallantly.  
  
Loki’s hand moves beneath the furs and gives Thor’s nipple a savage pinch.  
  
“Wretch!” Thor yelps, grabbing Loki’s wrist.  
  
“Don’t pretend not to like it.” Loki’s teeth are a glint of white in the dark.  
  
Thor refuses to answer, because his cock has leapt with desire, bare to the furs and the sudden insistent press of Loki’s thigh between his own. “Would you like,” Loki whispers, “to have me as your queen, heavy with pups and yoked like a dairy cow? Would you make your vassals pleasure me, like I dreamt?”  
  
Thor hesitates. He is wary of answering Loki’s questions honestly; too often have his words fashioned themselves into clumsy weapons without his consent. “It sounds like it wasn’t that pleasing,” he says.  
  
Loki makes a considering sound. “Dreams are not always the clearest glass. Sometimes reality can surprise you.” He turns his wrist in Thor’s grasp, takes his hand. “For instance…”  
  
He presses Thor’s palm flat against his belly, draws it to the ridges of his hipbones.  
  
Thor strokes his thumb there, in the soft valley of thin smooth skin. There’s a strange moment of disconnect where he expects to feel Loki’s hard cock brush his arm, and even shifts a little to find it, but comes up lacking.  
  
Surely Loki wouldn’t have woken him if not--  
  
But Loki guides him lower, and Thor’s fingers encounter a flat thatch of hair, empty of cock and balls, tellingly damp.  
  
“Oh,” he says, surprised, and reaches reflexively with his other hand, feels across Loki’s hard muscled chest. “But you’re not--”  
  
He has seen his brother shift genders often enough, and sometimes for days or months at a stretch, but never this partial transformation, still solid and male everywhere except… _here_.  
  
“How would you know,” Loki murmurs, as though reading his mind, “whether I have taken this combination of forms before?” His voice becomes hard, daring Thor to object. “It pleases me.”  
  
But Thor does not object. “Alright,” he says, and cups his brother’s groin, presses the heel of his palm against the mound of bone softened by hair and flesh. “And would it please you for me to worship at your feet? A poor substitute for legions of willing slaves, I know…”  
  
“Somewhere a bit higher than my feet, if you would,” says Loki, and puts his mouth to Thor’s. He is wet and hot, both his mouth and lower, where Thor’s fingers dip just inside.  
  
Loki makes a noise, a sinuous writhing, and pushes up with his hips. His tongue brushes Thor’s, retreats, and their mouths break lushly apart. Loki puts his hand on Thor’s side, touches the inside of his elbow, lets his lips hover an inch above Thor’s. “Will you swear fealty to me?” he asks, at once curious and solemn.  
  
“In all the ways I can,” Thor replies, and liberates himself from Loki’s arms, ducking beneath the furs.  
  
Loki goes immediately stiff, but Thor thinks in a good way; Loki’s hands run across his hair, brush the edges of his jaw, and his touch is gentle, possessive. He moves his legs obligingly, allowing Thor to settle between them, and his thighs tremble where Thor takes hold of them. Thor can hear his breath quicken, even through the layers of fur.  
  
It is sultry and close under here; Thor breathes in the salt musk of an anatomy he has sorely missed. He wishes there were more light, so he could see what Loki has fashioned for himself. He can imagine it well enough, though, and draws a more complete picture with gentle brushes of his fingers, tracing the shape of the warm outer folds.  
  
Loki sighs, seeming to melt into the straw ticking. His hips arch, like a casual satisfying stretch after a long time abed. Thor grins helplessly to himself, laying his head against Loki’s thigh. He lets his breath wash over the places his fingers brush, runs his thumb up the centre. It parts for him, slick beneath, and he just barely touches the nub at the top, circles it soft as a graze of feathers.  
  
Loki jerks, thumping Thor in the ribs with one heel. Thor catches that foot with his free hand, bends it up to kiss the arch. Loki is flexible enough to endure the stretch, but he pushes at Thor’s face with his toes anyway, trying to shove it down into his groin. Thor leans away, laughing.  
  
“Humour me, brother,” he says. “I’m still waking up, you know.”  
  
“I’m sure you could do this in your sleep,” Loki says, muffled. His hand knots in Thor’s hair, thumb pushing into the sensitive place under his ear, rubbing it deep.  
  
“I would rather be awake to enjoy it,” murmurs Thor.  
  
He lets go of Loki’s foot, then, and lowers his face. His hair pulls sharply through Loki’s fingers, and it feels good. He skims his mouth over Loki’s cunt without spreading the lips, rubs softly back and forth a dozen times. The narrow center line of wet, like a barely opened doorway, spreads gradually beneath his touch, until he tastes it upon his tongue.  
  
When he licks, it’s just one short flick, right at the top. And then another, just as quick. Five more, then ten. Loki raises his hips, and the hand in Thor’s hair gets tighter, pushing. Thor resists, pulling his mouth away entirely, until Loki relents, and then Thor puts his hand on Loki’s flat belly, just above the line of hair, and pulls the flesh tight. He knows how it would look, if there were only light to see; the plump lips stretched, the hair parted, the sensitive nub exposed.  
  
By feel, he knows where to go. He puts his parted lips down on it, takes a slick sweet mouthful. Loki shudders all over and hooks one knee over Thor’s shoulder, digging with his foot at Thor’s spine. It is goad enough, and Thor sucks, a sodden tender pulse of pressure repeated, his tongue stroking at the middle, until Loki snarls without words, gripping the back of Thor’s head tight. Fresh damp spreads across Thor’s chin. He continues without mercy, slipping his tongue between the slick creases, thrusting back and forth.  
  
“Fuck,” says Loki, unusually vulgar. “Right there, there, oh, Thor, that’s the place. Go-- there, yes. Fuck.” This time the word is drawn out, drowned in a chatter of teeth as Thor obeys. He rubs the twitching clitoris with the flat of his tongue, massages it deep and steady, nudges the tip experimentally. He’s been kicked in the head by past paramours for over-enthusiasm, and winces in preparation, but Loki seems to appreciate it; he curls his knee around the back of Thor’s neck, locking him ruthlessly in place.  
  
“Don’t stop, you fucking--” Loki snarls, and breaks off when Thor moves one hand up to push his thumb into his mouth alongside Loki’s swollen flesh. For a moment, he sucks and rubs circles on Loki’s clitoris at the same time, a complicated manoeuvre, and then, once it is wet enough, he slips his thumb down to push it into the narrow entrance.  
  
Loki’s groan is wordless and exquisite, loud enough to wake their neighbours. Thor trusts that no one nearby possesses the stones to interrupt their lovemaking, and makes deliberate effort to please Loki into further excesses of noise.    
  
He suckles and rubs, turning his face side to side, stroking his tongue on the swollen bud where Loki wants it most. He could go on for tireless hours, but feels flush with impatient desire and victory when Loki goes gradually more still and tense beneath his attentions, fingers drawing tighter in his hair. Loki’s breath comes in sharp pants, bitten off and ragged.  
  
“Thor--” he gasps, thighs shaking. His hole has clenched like a vice on Thor’s thumb.  “Brother-- I-- it’s coming--”  
  
And then Loki himself is coming, a protracted instant of utter rigidity and then a riot of motion, his legs clamping on the sides of Thor’s head, his back bowing. His cunt spasms in Thor’s mouth, clitoris contracting over and over. It is all Thor can do to stay in place, to suck the needy desperate twitching, to ride out Loki’s wild thrashing.  
  
His brother sobs aloud, howls. He grinds into Thor’s face, pressing the protective cup of Thor’s lips into his teeth. It takes a long time to subside, that final atavistic burst of pleasure. His cunt runs over until it soaks Thor’s chin and throat.  
  
Thor has nearly forgotten the joy of breathing by the time Loki lets him loose, but he draws back in unhurried increments, soothing the last tremors from Loki’s sensitive flesh. The hole grasps at his thumb, allows it to retreat only reluctantly.  
  
Thor at last pushes back the furs with a great inhalation, shocked by the chill air. Loki reaches for him without hesitation, curling both arms around Thor’s neck, and draws him up for kissing. Thor takes great delight in wiping his wet beard on Loki’s smooth cheeks, but Loki doesn’t seem to mind. He is boneless under Thor’s greater bulk, muscles trembling, and his mouth is a pocket of furious warmth, nearly as soaked and eager as his cunt. Thor kisses him thoroughly, licks at the flutter of Loki’s tongue with his own, sucks it deep and slow.  
  
Loki’s hands find his bare ass, push it into position so that Thor’s rigid cock is poised above his sopping cleft. The head of Thor’s cock nudges between the open folds, slides against Loki’s tender clitoris.  
  
“Can I?” asks Thor, hardly able to speak for yearning.  
  
“Put it in me, yes,” Loki snarls. “Get your big cock in me, Thor, and fill me up with pups.”  
  
Thor groans and does as he’s told. Loki is unbearably tight, still quivering internally, and Thor sinks in languid and easy, rocking until his pelvis is snug with Loki’s. He hold still as long as he can, letting Loki’s presumably virgin hole adjust to his girth, and then he begins a careful thrusting.  
  
Loki’s nails scratch at his back, draw down his ribs. His head is thrown back, and Thor opens his mouth against the stretch of throat, bites at it.  
  
“Ah, brother,” Loki whispers, “you fill me perfectly. You were made for me.”  
  
“I think rather,” Thor groans, “that you were made for me.”  
  
Loki urges him on with his hands, with a subtle tilting of his hips. He whispers filth in Thor’s ears, tells him how lovely and thick and solid he feels inside, how good the ferocious driving of his muscles. How delicious when Thor slips too far out and the tip of his cock rubs Loki all down the sensitive middle.  
  
“I would have you spend inside me, brother,” Loki purrs, teeth on the delicate rim of Thor’s ear. “Mount me like a beast, shoot your seed where it will work best. I want to feel your emission against my womb, and know you have put your get in me.”  
  
Thor cries out involuntarily, burying it against Loki’s bare collarbones, and follows orders like he never has before. His balls empty themselves in his brother’s cunt, and Thor thrusts with all his might, working between Loki’s spread thighs until his cock is fully spent. He stays inside as long as he can, pushing gently in and out to protract the thrum of pleasure, and is reluctant when he must at last draw free, feeling the rush of liquid against his sac, trickling out of Loki’s well-used opening.  
  
“Good boy,” Loki says, petting Thor’s hair back from his hot face with cool hands. “My lovely boy. You did that so well.”  
  
Thor lowers his head, rests it on the heave of Loki’s chest. His eyes burn with sweat.  
  
“Your spend is sloppy in me,” Loki goes on, low and hypnotic. “It’s soaked me all the way to the core. You’re so young and strong, Thor… you’ve put a litter in my belly, I’m sure of it.”  
  
“Stop,” Thor groans, exhausted and over-sensitized. “I can’t take your obscene words any longer.”  
  
Loki chuckles. “But it’s true. The prince of Asgard must be virile and brimming with potential heirs. You probably have a hundred bastards by now.”  
  
“No,” says Thor, wounded. “Not one.”  
  
“Hm, that you know of.” Loki’s smile is audible.  
  
“None,” says Thor again, firm. “I made sure.”  
  
Loki pauses. “And now?” he says at last. “What about now?”  
  
Thor lifts his head at last. “What about now?” He stares into the dark hollows where Loki’s gaze hides. “Have I put a litter in your belly?”  
  
Loki moves beneath him, stretching long and luxurious. “I suppose we’ll find out.”  
  
Thor chuckles, because his brother may be a lewd and shameless rogue capable of dazzling feats of sorcery and shape-shifting, but he is no true woman.  
  
“Allow me to put some effort into controlling your uncontrollable breeding urge,” Thor tells him, and slides back down beneath the furs once more, to put his face between Loki’s damp thighs and suck the virile royal seed from Loki’s hungry cunt.  


 


End file.
